Hugs and Kisses, Arsène
by Katty008
Summary: SPOILERS A mad Frenchman mostly rescues Sherlock and John from their poolside confrontation and warns Sherlock away from Moriarty. Sherlock listens. From a certain point of view.


**Disclaimer: Almost forgot this, I'm out of practice. I cannot say I own Sherlock. However, no one can say they own Sherlock Holmes. Ditto for our favorite mad Frenchman. And interesting conundrum, wouldn't you agree?**

**Since I am currently on a road trip, I have had plenty of aimless hours driving in the car to ponder GREAT GAME. Because it is so epic that it should not be known as anything other than GREAT GAME. I came to the conclusion that either Irene Adler or a certain Frenchman should show up in the next season. Because in the case of the Frenchman, it's only fair. Holmes came over to him, now it's his turn. And so I came up with my own end to GREAT GAME just like everybody else. Mine is slightly different though. For instance, there's no NC-17 sex. Please don't leave just because of that sentence, I swear it can be good without the sex.**

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**Hugs and Kisses, Arsène**

It was the kind of showdown that John had previously thought only happened in movies. Jim Moriarty, cool as ever, just standing there looking unbothered while numerous snipers aimed at Sherlock and John, Sherlock with John's handgun pointed at the bomb vest, and John slumped against the wall completely useless.

Then one of Sherlock's laser targets mysteriously vanished. Then another. Then one of John's disappeared. Moriarty seemed mildly perturbed by this. Then another of John's vanished, and a billion things happened at once.

Moriarty ripped a small radio from his pocket and nearly shouted into it. "Kill them now! Fire!" The last of Sherlock's sniper lasers disappeared, and he lunged at John. Moriarty ran back out the door he had just reentered and a dark shadow darted across the ceiling. There was a muffled bang from a silenced sniper rifle. Sherlock felt warm blood and a stinging sensation in his left arm. John gasped and cried out as the single bullet slipped by Sherlock's arm to lunge itself into his torso. Sherlock pulled himself off of John to survey the damage, brain calculating survival rates at exponential speeds.

"Are you hurt?" a suave voice asked from beside Sherlock suddenly as a man clad in black appeared there as if out of nowhere. Sherlock didn't even glance up, already knowing that the man was French from a very slight accent. He doubted anyone other than him would be able to pick it up.

The man apparently didn't need an answer as he instead crouched down quickly, shedding his coat and making to press it against John's wound as the old Army doctor gasped for breath. Sherlock wrenched it out of his hand and pressed it against John's wound instead, perhaps a little too hard. "Damn it!" Sherlock cursed.

The man stood up and pulled a black cellphone out of his pocket to stare at the screen. "The police have been called, and an ambulance. It'll be here quickly, your friend should make it. I've got some men playing with traffic lights so it's got a clear run. Some of my other men are tailing Moriarty, but they're having a hell of a time doing it. I doubt it'll make any difference in the long run, so I've ordered them off if their lives are threatened. The name's Arsène by the way, Arsène Lupin."

"What's it to you? And what are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, only just taking in what Arsène Lupin was saying in favor of focusing on John.

"I've been keeping an eye on you. I've also been keeping a much more low-key eye on Moriarty. I like to know what my competition is. And since you'd managed so wonderfully to call him out I thought I might intervene to save your life. In a fight between the two of you I am definitely rooting for you Mr. Holmes."

"You are the leader of your own criminal organization, and you consider me the lesser threat," Sherlock deduced.

"Wrong," Arsène answered. "Riddle me this Mr. Holmes: I am a good bad guy. The police will be here any moment, so I'd best be off. Wouldn't want them to ask me any awkward questions now would I?"

"Wait. If you've been keeping an eye on Moriarty, then you could give me information."

Arsène looked repentant. "I wish I could. But with everything I know and all the men and resources at my disposal, I have not been able to do a thing to take him down. No matter how great, you are still just one man. If I told you what I know then it would lead to your death, and that would be most regrettable."

"What little I know at the moment has already nearly killed me and my companion. And Moriarty could be killing dozens every day. What is my life compared to all of theirs?"

"Mr. Holmes, you are a great man, but a man nonetheless. And I think you are actually a good man. I hope we meet again some day." And Arsène Lupin left just as suddenly as he had come.

Sherlock could hear the sirens. John was fading, but he was going to make it. He glared at the hateful bomb vest, glad that the creator was long gone, even though it meant he would have to start from scratch in chasing him. Arsène Lupin and his interest in Sherlock was a puzzle. Jim Moriarty was a problem that needed to be solved. One first, then the other.

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A week passed. John was in the hospital recovering speedily, and was eager to keep in high spirits for Sherlock. Both of them knew however that the thought of Moriarty was never far from the other's mind. Sherlock pored over case after cold case, looking for any hint of Moriarty, anything that could possibly lead to him.

Apparently Mrs. Hudson had had enough and had called Lestrade hoping for an intervention, as Sherlock received a text from the good officer shortly after banging his head against the wall growling. Apparently Lord Blackwood's manor had been ransacked by thieves, and they wanted his help. Specifically, they wanted to know the meaning of the note left behind by the thieves. Enclosed had been a copy of the message, and unfortunately for Mrs. Hudson it had taken Sherlock only a glance to decipher.

_It seems I've missed you Mr. Holmes. Have you figured out my riddle yet? This is rather neon-light of me, but I wanted to make sure you got the idea. Yes, it is an insult to the intelligence of both of us, but again I didn't want to give you the wrong impression. I wanted to make sure you at least have the gist of the resources I have at hand, and how far I've been able to get with them. Give it up. There are far safer targets in this world. Keep your head down, and maybe someday you'll get that big break. I'll keep in touch, though you won't always know it. Hugs and kisses, Ars__è__ne._

Sherlock then came to the conclusion that Arsène Lupin was a madman. Scratch that, he was French. He was a mad Frenchman. What madman signed their letters 'hugs and kisses'? A French one, that was what.

And when John was released from the hospital and came back to Baker Street, Sherlock decided that he was going to follow the mad French thief's advice, for the time being at least. He had no clue what leads the future would bring, but for the moment at least he was going to ignore the greatest criminal mastermind to ever grace the streets. Because that was what people who wanted their flatmates to live did.

However, if he pulled in a few favors to try and figure out how to contact Arsène Lupin, that was none of Moriarty's business. Even if he was trying to figure out what the mad Frenchman knew, and just what his resources entailed. He could make great use of a network of criminals that he wasn't actually expected to arrest. He knew that they knew things that he wouldn't know, and one never knew when knowing things like that would come in handy.

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**God I love Arsène. I think I love him more than Ellery Queen, and that is really saying something. I'm not much of an NC-17 yaoi fan, but I would read that crossover, really I would. Also, I was writing the note when I realized just how damn easy it would be to make this a Detective Conan fic. This may end up being the basis for my next multichapter fic. Reviews are love!**


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